He Looked So Perfect
by astudyinotters
Summary: Or, the five times John made Sherlock blush spectacularly while in university, and the one time Sherlock turned the tables.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock looked up just as a folded scrap of paper was nudged to him. Turning his head, he saw John's hand hovering just beside the paper. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock opened the paper and stared at the words scrawling over the scrap.

_Saw you walk by the pitch during yesterday's match. What were you staring so intently at? Saw something you liked?_

Sherlock felt his face heat up at John's written words, instantly reliving the few moments he spent transfixed at the rugby pitch.

Sherlock had taken the very scenic route back to their dorm after a successful experiment in the science lab, using the excuse that some fresh air would do him some good, especially after being cooped up in the lab with all the toxic fumes. In all reality, he was curious to see what John liked about the game so much. When he reached the rugby pitch, Sherlock had walked around to the side and watched the game for a few moments, eyes scanning rapidly over the crowd, the referees, the teams. There was so much information flooding his senses all at once, the input overwhelming him. Sherlock was just able to identify which team had the ball when his eyes landed on John.

The day had been warm, Sherlock couldn't deny that, but he didn't think it explained the heat that had blossomed across his cheeks. When embarking on his rugby investigation, he hadn't given a passing thought at the uniforms. In hindsight, he should have done some research before showing up at John's match. John was attractive - Nearly 80 percent of their university could agree on that singular fact, Sherlock included.

There was something about the man's gentle nature and athletic appearance that made him popular amongst anyone that appreciated the male form. Naturally, it made sense that John would be most attractive when he was in his element, running and dashing across the pitch, his tanned body colliding with others, hands grappling for purchase on the strange looking ball. And yet, the sight of a John standing there on the pitch- his tanned skin glistening under a sheen of sweat, blood trickling down his right leg from the scrape on his knee, his back bowed and chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, bright smile gleaming in the sun- took Sherlock's breath away.

All of the information that had been pouring in was gone now, replaced only with images of John. It was as if Sherlock's brain was unable to process the conundrum that was his gorgeous flatmate. He had stared wide-eyed at John until his roommate caught his gaze and winked his direction, turning his dazzling smile at Sherlock. All at once, his brain snapped back on, urging him to make a hasty retreat. Cheeks ablaze, Sherlock made his way back to their dorm room and sprawled facedown on his bed. He was asleep before John came back.

Sherlock was brought back to the present with a gentle nudge from John. Turning to look at his roommate, he saw another folded scrap of paper laying by his stagnant hand. Opening it, more of John's now-familiar scrawl greeting him.

_You ok, Sherlock? You looked lost for a little bit_.

With a huff, Sherlock turned John's note over and penned his response.

**I'm fine. Just lost in thought for a moment. And the game was interesting. As for the staring, I was organizing everything in my mind palace.**

A few moments later, another piece of paper appeared beside Sherlock's right hand.

_Fair enough. Whatcha thinking about?_

Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes, and shot John a look, silently asking him if they were really going to do this. John raised an eyebrow in response, confirming Sherlock's suspicion. Sighing, Sherlock flipped the note over and wrote **Rugby** before shoving it pointedly at John.

John chuckled softly behind him and hastily wrote another note, pushing it to Sherlock with a grin.

_Oh really? I hadn't noticed. Seriously though, what brought on the sudden interest?_

**Research** Sherlock wrote, turning to look out the window. Class was extra dull today, and Sherlock found himself easily distracted. In the window, he could only just make out John's reflection.

John was much more interesting to study, Sherlock thought. He was always baffling Sherlock, always doing the unexpected, always surprising him. Sherlock wanted to know what made John tick, wanted to know where his thoughts were, wanted to know why he got up for school every day. He wanted to know what kind of juice he preferred, what parts of his body were ticklish, what the reason was behind John's smiles. Sherlock also found that he wanted to know the feel of John's lips against his, wanted to taste his sweat on his tongue, wanted to watch as John fell apart under the assault of orgasm… Blushing deeply, Sherlock shook his head, attempting to rid himself of his thoughts. He wasn't quite sure why his libido had so rudely interrupted his thought pattern.

_Research for what, Sherlock? Are you helping the police again?_ John had scribbled, raising an eyebrow at his roommate.

**No. Research for the sake of research. You seem to enjoy the game. I was merely curious as to why. Hence the research.** Sherlock replied.

John grinned as he read Sherlock's note. Pausing before penning a reply, John nibbled at his bottom lip. It was dreadfully distracting and Sherlock found that he wanted to pull John's lower lip into his own mouth and suck on it. Finally, John pushed a note at him.

_That's kinda cute, Sherlock. Didn't know you cared._

Sherlock flushed deeper at John's praise, his embarrassment only growing as another note followed the first.

_You're beautiful when you blush_.

**That's hardly appropriate, John.** Sherlock quipped.

John just grinned.

_I don't give a rat's arse about being appropriate right now, Sherlock. If someone is gorgeous, then I'm going to tell them. And you are so bloody gorgeous._

Sherlock swallowed thickly again, his mind spinning.

**Don't be daft, John. We both know that isn't true.**

John shot him a quizzical look, furrowing his eyebrows.

_Isn't true my arse. Jesus, Sherlock. Do I need to spell it out for you? Tell you why I find you gorgeous?_

Sherlock nodded minutely, hands folding carefully on the desk before him.

John takes a moment to scribble a few words and shoves a scrap of paper at him before ripping a clean sheet of paper from his notebook.

_Your mind_.

**What about my mind?**

John took a few moments, but answered Sherlock's question.

_It's absolutely beautiful and brilliant. I can't fathom having a mind like yours. Always running, always processing information. It's magnificent._

**So you like me for my brain?**

_Among other things, yes._

**What other things?**

_Fishing for compliments, are we?_

**No. I'm merely curious.**

_You're serious, aren't you? God, has nobody ever told you how breathtaking you are?_

**Oh I've been told I'm breathtaking before, but I don't think it's the way you're thinking.**

_Jesus Christ, Sherlock. For the record, you are the most attractive man I've ever met. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep my hands to myself when we're alone in our dorm room? You look like sex personified._

**I do? How so?**

_Well, I'll start with your hair. It's dark, and curly, and looks like it's really soft. Everyone always talks about wanting to card their fingers through it._

**It is soft, John. Is that all people like though?**

_No. People also like your eyes, your fucking gorgeous eyes that can never seem to settle on one color. They're expressive, too. And they remind me of starlight. It also doesn't help that when you deduce people it looks like you're mentally undressing them._

**Starlight, John? That's an over-romanticised concept.**

_Shut up, Sherlock. I like your cheekbones, too. Your bone structure is so sharp everywhere, and parts of your face always seem to be in shadow. It makes the highlights of your face look razor sharp. When you brush your curls out of your face, I half expect you to pull back with your fingers sliced open. Makes you look like you're above everything else._

**That's because I am, John. My brain is far superior to those of the commonwealth.**

John breathed deep, frustrated at Sherlock's words. "Seriously, shut up," he whispered, hunching over the paper. John's pen flew across the page, words smearing against his hand as it dragged across wet ink trails.

_Don't even get me started on your mouth_.

**My mouth?**

_Fuck, Sherlock, that goddamn mouth of yours. You're always so sharp with your words, and it's kinda hot to see you rip into Anderson when he's being stupid. And your lips are so plush. And pink. Christ, it's like they're begging to be kissed. And bit. And I know that they'd look so fucking amazing stretched and wet around, _the word _my_ was scribbled out, _a cock._

Sherlock shifts behind him, awkwardly attempting to cross his legs as best as he can underneath the table, no doubt hiding his erection. If John looked hard enough, he could see Sherlock's pulse throbbing in his neck. John took a deep breath to steady himself attempting to quell the erection growing in his trousers.

_Your skin is so gorgeous, all soft and pale. It's like you're begging to be covered in love bites. And bruises. And you should always be flushed. It's so goddamn beautiful, and I bet it goes all the way down your neck to spread across your chest. You look like sex, Sherlock. And you drive me mad._

Sherlock sat still, staring pointedly at his hands, breath falling in an even, overly-controlled tempo.

**Why does it drive you mad, John? And I didn't realize how badly I affected you.**

_It drives me mad because I'm so close to you. All the time. And I can't do a damn thing about it because you're not mine to touch._

John flinched as he heard Sherlock suck in a breath through his teeth. It was a few moments before Sherlock moved, hand gripping tight around his pen, forming words on John's paper.

**Do you want me to be yours, John? Do you want to be able to touch me whenever you want?**

_Fuck, Sherlock. Don't joke about this._

**I'm not joking, John. I'm amenable to being yours.**

John paused. _Does this mean I can touch you?_

**Obviously, John. I've been yours from the beginning. You keep me right.**

At Sherlock's written confession, John scooted his chair closer to Sherlock's, leaning into his body. His left hand slipped under the table and moved to rest hot and steady over Sherlock's throbbing erection. "Don't mind if I do," he whispered, his words ghosting over Sherlock's neck.

John's hand was warm, even through his trousers, and it took every ounce of self control over his transport for Sherlock to refrain from thrusting up against John's palm.

"Shh, love. Be still. We don't want to draw the professor's attention, do we?" John murmured, smirking as Sherlock's breath hitched. John squeezes Sherlock's cock once before releasing him, pulling his hand back over his own lap.

Sherlock took a moment to calm down, one of his hands clenching rhythmically around nothing. When his breathing was normal again, Sherlock noticed a new note resting by his hand.

_We'll continue this later. One of these days I'm going to strip you down to nothing but that gorgeous blush. And then I'm going to spend all night seeing how far I can make it spread._

The class dismissed then, John slipping out of the room before Sherlock could notice that he'd gone. The rest of Sherlock's day passed by in a haze, his mind fixated on the memory of both John's touch and his promise. That night, when John returned to their room, he pulled out an overnight bag and started throwing clothes at it.

"I have to go home for tonight. Harry's gotten herself into a bit of a jam, but I should be home tomorrow," John said, pausing to sit at the end of Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock blinked owlishly at John and raised an eyebrow.

John's hand settled just above his knee, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into Sherlock's flesh. "I'll be thinking about you though, wishing I was here instead."

"What will you be thinking of, John? It sounds like you have something specific in mind," Sherlock asked, his legs falling open under John's touch.

John winked and grinned. "I'll let you know when I get there. Keep your phone on, I'll be texting you tonight," John replied, stroking his hand up the offered expanse of Sherlock's leg, resting dangerously high on his inner thigh.

Sherlock swallowed thickly and nodded, lips parting to allow his lungs to pulling more air.

"Feels good, doesn't it? My hand on your body?" John asked, leaning in to ghost his lips across Sherlock's hairline.

Sherlock nodded, eyes fluttering closed at John's nearness.

"Mmm. I'm glad. Because I like it, too," John murmured, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "God, you're gorgeous."

John rose from the bed a moment later and quickly finished packing, zipping up his bag when he was finished. Before he slipped out the door to make the trek home, he returned to Sherlock and wove a hand into his curls. "They are soft," he whispered.

Sherlock hummed under his touch, the pleased sigh morphing into something far more heated when John's hand gripped hard around a fistful of hair.

"And perfect for grabbing," he commented, trailing his other hand down Sherlock's chest to settle over his cock once more. "Keep this nice and hard for me," he breathed, squeezing around the half-hard erection.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he nodded, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"Perfect. I'll message you before bed then, gorgeous. Feel free to touch yourself, but don't you dare have an orgasm without me," John said, winking. He released his hold on Sherlock, blew him a cheeky kiss, and sauntered out the door. He was anxious to get home and finish taking care of Harry. The sooner he could get on the phone with Sherlock, the better. After all, he had plans. Glorious, glorious plans.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the second chapter. Thank you, everyone, for your kind words. I hope you enjoy this installment. Cheers!**

* * *

It was ages before John had gotten Harry sobered, settled, and tucked safely away in bed. By the time he'd managed to clean the kitchen and do away with all the alcohol he could find, it was well past midnight, and John was sure Sherlock was a sleep. Going out on a limb, John locked his bedroom door, plugged in his mobile, and laid out on his bed, sending Sherlock a message.

02:17 Hey, you up? - JW

Message sent, John got back up and puttered around his room, laying out his pajamas before snagging his toiletry bag and heading into the bathroom. A few minutes later, John's phone chimed softly, alerting him of a new text. He smirked around his toothbrush and hurried to finish his bedtime routine, eagerly sliding between his sheets.

02:21 Yes. You're up late, John. Harry give you much trouble? - SH

02:21 Yeah. But I'm here now. How was your night, sexy? ;) - JW

02:23 Fine. I hadn't realized so much time had passed. - SH

02:24 You're always in the massive head of yours. What's have you been thinking about? - JW

02:25 You, mostly. And my Chemistry exam later this week. That bit's been dull. - SH

02:25 What have you been thinking about me? And I can't get you out of my head either, Sherlock. - JW

02:26 … Really? - SH

02:26 Yes Really. - JW

02:28 And what have you been thinking, John? - SH

02:28 I asked you first, gorgeous. But if you must know, I can't get the thought of you all hard for me out of my head. ;) - JW

02:31 … I'm thinking about that, too. - SH

At Sherlock's message, John felt his heart rate increase. Biting his lower lip, John slid a hand down and cupped his cock through his pants. He'd been half hard since he left his dorm room earlier that night, and he was so looking forward to getting some relief.

02:31 Mmm, good. Are you still hard for me, Sherlock? - JW

02:32 Yes, John. - SH

02:33 I wish I was there so I could touch you. God Sherlock, I wanna make you fall apart. - JW

02:33 Fall apart? Wouldn't that be dangerous? - SH

02:34 Only if you don't let me put you back together when I'm done. ;) - JW

Try as he might, John couldn't get the image of Sherlock falling apart out of his head. He wondered how his roommate would feel pressed against him, wondered how his mouth would taste as he kissed him, wondered just how far down that blush would spread, and how to make it deepen…

02:40 How would you take me apart, John? - SH

02:41 With lots of teasing. Are you touching yourself? - JW

02:42 No… Should I be? - SH

02:42 If you want to. I'm touching myself, just for the record. - JW

02:44 I don't know how to do this, John. - SH

02:44 Well, you can start by taking off your trousers and pants. :P - JW

02:45 I know that, John. I may be inexperienced, but I'm not completely without knowledge. I was referring to whatever we're doing over the phone. - SH

02:46 Do you want me to talk you through it? Like I did in class earlier? - JW

02:50 … Please, John? - SH

02:50 Of course. - JW

02:52 *Incoming Call*

Sherlock's voice was breathy and strained when he answered John's phone call, his breath breaking in the middle of his, "Hello?"

"Are you touching yourself for me, Sherlock?" John asked, his palm loosely wrapped around his cock.

"Not yet, John. Tell me how?" Sherlock replied, his voice husky with need.

"Put me on speaker phone and take your clothes off. I want you naked for me, "John said, closing his eyes. He could hear Sherlock fumbling with his clothes, his hands stumbling over each other as he worked the buttons on his shirt. John could see Sherlock undressing in his mind's eye, could see as inch after inch of bone-colored skin was revealed, could see as his cheeks turned rosy and his eyes grew dark. Breathing deep, John squeezed around the base of his cock. He was already fully erect, and he didn't want this to be over too soon.

"John?" Sherlock called, sheets rustling as he laid back in bed. "What do I do now?"

"Touch yourself for me, Sherlock. Slowly, though. Run your hands down your chest," John instructed, gliding his free hand down his own chest.

"Why, John? That doesn't sound like it would be enjoyable," Sherlock said, huffing.

John chuckled. "Because that's what I'd be doing to you if I was there. It's what I'll do to you when I get home tomorrow. I'll touch your body slowly and learn you, Sherlock, just like you're going to do for me right now."

"Sherlock's breath hitched, and a bit-back moan rang in John's ears. Sherlock was already making such beautiful noises, and John was eager to see what other sounds he could pull from that throat. "Tell me how it feels, Sherlock," John said, his hand sliding back down to palm his cock.

"It's gentle, John," Sherlock breathed. "But good. Makes me feel safe."

"That's good, love. I'm glad it makes you feel good. Now pinch your nipples for me. I bet they're incredibly sensitive," John said, fingers teasing at the crown of his cock.

Sherlock gasped as his fingers pinched and twisted his nipples. It was painful, but the burn it yielded was delicious, and it sparked tendrils of pleasure down his spine.

"God, Sherlock," John groaned. "I can't wait to suck and bite at your nipples. I bet they get really red, and hard, and sensitive. Please tell me how it feels."

"Good, John. And hot. And it stings, but I like it. I want more," Sherlock murmured, his fingers still twisting the now-hardened buds. "What do I do next?"

"Wrap your hand around your cock, love," John instructed. "Just feel yourself. Imagine my hand wrapped around you, getting familiar with your size. I'd kiss you too. Suck the breath from your lungs until we're both dizzy with want."

Sherlock moaned at his roommate's words, images of John flashing through his mind. He could see what John described, could almost feel his sturdy, compact body anchored against his own, could almost taste John's mouth as it melded and glided against his. "John," he breathed. "God yes. You need to come back; need you here."

"Fuck, Sherlock," John moaned, hand working steadily over his cock. "I want to be there. So badly. I want to see you, love. Wanna watch as you come undone beneath me. When I get home, I may just have to push you against the door and suck your cock. I bet you'd blush so prettily for me. You'd look so beautiful with your cheeks and neck and cock flushed red. Touch yourself, Sherlock. Make yourself cum for me."

Sherlock's cock twitched as he sped up his pace, his palm slicked with pre-cum. Little by little, his hand worked faster, his arousal growing. His body felt hot and tense, his muscles wound tight. "John," he breathed, one hand flying back to pinch his nipples. "Oh please, John. It feels so good."

John moaned. "It's supposed to," he quipped, hips bucking up against his hand. "God, I'm close. You're too gorgeous for words, Sherlock. So fucking sexy. I can't wait to see what you look like as you cum."

Sherlock managed three additional strokes before his body was wracked with orgasm. He came hard, shooting his release over his fist as his hips bucked, subconsciously fucking himself through it. When his orgasm subsided, Sherlock found that he was more relaxed than he'd been in a long time.

Hearing Sherlock cum was the most wonderful sound in the world, John mused, hand flying over his cock. The way his roommate's voice broke and turned breathy as his lips formed John's name was enough to drive him over the edge, hot ropes of cum spilling over his fist. "Fuck, Sherlock," John breathed. "Can't wait to see you."

The call ended abruptly, John stumbling to his bathroom to clean himself off and repeat his nighttime routine. A few minutes later, as John was partway through brushing his teeth again, his phone chimed. Padding back to his bed, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, John looked at his phone.

03:26 [New Media Message]

Intrigued, John downloaded the message, continuing to brush his teeth while he waited. Returning to the bathroom, he rinsed his mouth and looked at the message again. John's toothbrush clattered to the ground as he drank in Sherlock's picture.

Sherlock was still naked, and was laid out on _John's_ bed. His chest was red and splotchy and dotted with glistening patches of semen. Sherlock's eyes were stormy, his pupils dilated wide, and his hair was a rumpled mess, dark curls sticking out at odd angles. Both of his nipples were red and swollen, and his lips were bitten half-raw and parted slightly, as if Sherlock was breathless. He looked beautiful and debauched, and John lamented the fact that trains didn't run at this particular time in the morning.

03:31 I'm sleeping in your bed tonight, John. Please join me when you get home. - SH

03:31 If I join you, I'm waking you up with a blowjob. Christ Almighty, you are gorgeous. - JW

03:32 Also, I was right. - JW

03:32 Right about what? - WH

03:34 That your blush goes all the way down your chest. Can't wait to see it tomorrow in person. ;) - JW

03:35 Sleep well, Sherlock. You're going to need your rest tomorrow. - JW


	3. Chapter 3

**And here's the third installment of He Looked So Perfect. Thank you all for your kind words, and another shout-out to johnlockbbclover for being insanely patient with me while I struggled. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and that this work finds you well. Cheers!**

* * *

John took the first train home, unable to sleep peacefully after his phone call with Sherlock. He slipped silently into their room and set his bag on the floor. Sherlock was sprawled across John's bed, the sheets barely covering his arse. Grabbing his shower caddy, John padded down to the bathroom and cleaned himself thoroughly before returning to his room.

Tugging on a pair of clean pants, John climbed in bed beside Sherlock, reaching to rifle through his bedside drawer for a condom. John had tested clean after his last girlfriend, but he wasn't going to risk his health given his roommate's history with drugs. Carefully, John pulled the sheets away from Sherlock's body and stared in awe at his sleeping form.

Sherlock's skin was pale and soft in the early morning light, looking warm and inviting. Placing the condom aside, John let his hands ghost over his roommate's ribcage, his fingers counting each ridge as he went.

Sherlock shifted in his sleep, leaning into John's touch. The new position allowed John to see Sherlock's face. He smiled, taking in his roommate's slack jaw and peaceful face. He looked impossibly young like this, with his brain not whirling its way through puzzles or problems. His hair was still a mess, and John had to resist the urge to tangle his fingers in the dark curls and _pull_. He would save that for later when Sherlock was awake; no use waking his roommate prematurely. After all, John had promised him a very special wake-up, and John was a man who always kept his word.

Smirking, John glided his hands down Sherlock's torso, pausing to tweak his nipples and rub circles into his hipbones. His lips and tongue trailed behind his hands, pulling needy sighs from Sherlock's throat with every suck and nibble. Wrapping his left hand around Sherlock's cock, John stroked just enough to get him hard. Quickly, John ripped the condom open and gently rolled it down Sherlock's length, stroking a few times to make sure it was secure.

When the condom held, John shuffled down to lie between Sherlock's legs, hands wrapping firmly around lean thighs and spreading them, guiding long legs to lie on either side of John's head. Wasting no more time, John leaned in and licked his roommate's length from root to tip, his tongue flicking against the slit through the condom.

Sherlock groaned in his sleep, hips bucking up in a futile attempt to chase the wet heat of John's mouth. Frustrated, his legs fell open, allowing John more room to work.

Sliding his hands to press down on Sherlock's hips, John wrapped his lips around the head of Sherlock's cock and sucked, humming happily at the weight on his tongue. It had been a while since John had given a blowjob, and as he lowered his head to take more of Sherlock's erection, John decided that it had been far too long.

John had missed the way a cock stretched his mouth. He missed the burn that lingered in his lips long after he finished. He missed the way his partner would grip his hair and push down his throat as he came. He was going to insist that Sherlock get tested today, because above all else, John missed the taste of his partner and the way the salty bitterness would linger on his tongue. And John wanted so desperately to taste Sherlock.

Sherlock stirred in his sleep, hips bucking up minutely against John's hands. Slowly, he woke, his senses stuttering to life. The first thing he became aware of was his erection. Then, came the knowledge that he wasn't alone as evident by the muffled heat around his cock. Eyes snapping open, Sherlock gasped John's name as his gaze locked on to his roommate's head bobbing enthusiastically in his lap.

Looking up at a sleep-rumpled Sherlock, John smirked as well as he could around his mouthful before sinking down on Sherlock's cock, not stopping until his nose was pressed against his roommate's abdomen. Hands tight on Sherlock's hips, John breathed in deep through his nose and swallowed on the exhale.

Whining deep in his throat, Sherlock's hand grappled for purchase in John's hair, dexterous fingers gripping tightly in an attempt to push himself even further down John's throat. He babbled incoherently as John continued, bobbing his head slowly so Sherlock would feel the exact moment his throat gave way with every downwards slide.

When Sherlock was properly incoherent, John pulled off his cock completely, hand stroking his erection as he licked his lips. "You feel amazing, love," he growled, his voice rough. "Can't wait to taste you for real."

"John," Sherlock breathed, head falling back into John's pillow. "Feels so good."

"I'm glad. Feels good for me, too," John commented, sliding his way up Sherlock's body to hover just over his roommate's lips, their breath mingling and eyes locking.

"Please," Sherlock murmured, eyes flicking down to linger on John's lips.

"Please, what?" John asked, leaning in closer.

"Just kiss me, John," Sherlock replied, raising his hands to rest at the back of John's neck, anchoring his roommate.

"Don't mind if I do," John breathed, finally leaning in the remaining distance to press his lips against Sherlock's.

The kiss was oddly chaste, given the nature of their previous coupling, but it was good. Sherlock hummed happily as John's warm lips softly glided against his, hands roaming down his strong back. In his mind, Sherlock mapped out bones and muscle groups, he named tendons and joints and blood vessels, he catalogued the smoothness and temperature of John's skin. John's words from last night rang in his head, and finally, they made sense. He was learning John, just as John was learning him, in the most intimate way possible. Groaning loudly, clever fingers gripped hard at strong shoulders as Sherlock pulled John in closer, wrapping himself around his roommate as he deepened their kiss.

Breathy moans fell freely from Sherlock's lips as John kissed his way down his roommate's jawline. Continuing downward, he licked and nipped at every hollow he could find, sucking light bruises into the flushed skin. "So beautiful," he murmured, teeth catching on the ridge of Sherlock's collar bone. "So goddamn gorgeous."

Sherlock squirmed when John's fingers wrapped around a nipple, pulling and twisting with just the right amount of pressure. The burn from last night was back, but it burned even hotter with John tending to him. His skin seemed to burn from where John touched him, little trails of fire cascading down his ribs with each caress of John's calloused fingers.

"Jesus Christ," John breathed, brushing his lips against Sherlock's heated skin. "Look at you, Sherlock. All spread out and wanting for me." He pulled away from his roommate, leaning back to straddle Sherlock's slim hips, allowing him an uninterrupted view.

Sherlock's face was pleasantly flushed, his mouth shiny and swollen. His neck and chest were littered with red splotches, some courtesy of John's mouth, the other evidence of Sherlock's arousal. Leaning down to suck a more prominent mark over where he knew Sherlock's heart was, John decided that Sherlock was the most beautiful human being he'd ever had the good fortune to meet. And that he shouldn't ever be allowed to wear clothes in their dorm room. Not unless they had other company, that was.

"You are never wearing clothes in here again," John growled, nibbling at the top of his roommate's rib cage.

"Really, John, that's hardly practical. What happens if Lestrade barges in unannounced, like he's so accustomed to doing?" Sherlock quipped, hands sliding to settle above the swell of John's arse.

"Don't care," John replied, lips ghosting over the next rib. "Maybe it would teach them a lesson about privacy and knocking first."

Sherlock's chest rumbled under John's lips, his laugh warm and pleasant. "If you say so, John."

Pulling up from where he had been in the process of tracing each of Sherlock's ribs with his tongue, John chuckled. "I do, love," he said. "I definitely do." Smiling, John leaned up and pressed his lips against Sherlock's again, tongue snaking into his roommate's mouth.

They kissed as if neither could get enough of the other, bodies aligning to rub and press together. Hands wandered and gripped and pulled as they tried to get impossibly close. They were both breathless when John broke the kiss minutes later, dizzy with lust.

"Now, where were we?" John asked as he slid his hand down to wrap around Sherlock's insistent erection.

"Hmmm," Sherlock hummed, eyes fluttering shut for a long moment. "I believe, you were going to finish giving me that blowjob?"

"Mmmm," John agreed, shuffling back down until his head was hovering over Sherlock's groin. "How on earth could I have forgotten that?"

If John had thought that Sherlock's cock had felt wonderful in his mouth before, it was even more so now that he was familiar with it's weight and girth. Taking care to cover his teeth, John resumed his previous actions, working his roommate's cock slowly with his lips, tongue, and throat. He revelled in each twitch and throb of Sherlock's erection, found pleasure as his nose bumped rhythmically against Sherlock's abdomen, moaned blissfully at every sound he pulled from his partner. It was a heady pleasure, sucking off such a beautiful creature, and John found his body reacting in kind, his own erection hard and leaking in his pants.

"God, John," Sherlock murmured, words nearly inaudible over the obscene sounds John was making around his cock. "I'm close."

John's only reply was to moan brokenly around his mouthful and increase his pace, one hand dipping into his pants to fist around his own cock.

The mood was ruined when their dorm room burst open loudly, sending both boys to grab for the sheet bunched up by Sherlock's feet. "Sherlock, we need your help for a case!" Lestrade shouted, his voice far too excited for 9 am on a Saturday morning.

It took precisely five seconds for Lestrade to realise what he'd walked in on, and another seven seconds for his face to color so deeply, his blush rivalled Sherlock's. "I'll just, um, wait outside while you two get dressed, yeah?" he offered, hand rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck.

John glared pointedly at Lestrade's back as he made a hasty retreat, the door to 221 B Baker Hall slamming shut behind him. Turning back to Sherlock, John sighed and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "I guess we'll finish this later, then?" he asked, frowning once more at the door.

Sherlock frowned but nodded, rising from the bed in an uncoordinated set of limbs and sheets as he set about getting dressed. "I'm sure this won't be higher than a three and I'll be back before afternoon tea. We can finish what we started then," Sherlock replied, disposing of the condom, his frown deepening.

With a huff, John rose from the bed and curled around Sherlock's back, hands wrapping around to pinch at his nipples once more. "Ok. But don't you dare forget to eat lunch," he said, slowly trailing his hands down Sherlock's ribs once again. "You're far too thin. I'm afraid I'll snap you in half when I fuck you."

Sherlock's flush deepened, the red on his cheeks contrasting somewhat beautifully with the black shirt in his hands. "I'm not made of porcelain, John," he quipped, pulling out of John's embrace to pull on his shirt.

John chuckled and returned to bed, flopping out over his sheets. "Oh believe me, I'm well aware," he retorted, curling up against the spare pillow shoved against the wall. "Porcelain doesn't blush that prettily."

Moments later, Sherlock stalked out of their dorm room, his face still ablaze, allowing the door to clatter shut. Smirking proudly, John congratulated himself on a job well done and allowed himself to finally drift off in a deep sleep, visions of Sherlock and his gorgeous blush dancing behind his eyelids.


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's the fourth installment of He Looked So Perfect. Thank you all for your kind words. Sorry for the delay in updating, I had an exam to study for and thus, writing fell behind. I hope this finds you well. Cheers!**

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Sherlock wasn't back by the time John made his afternoon cup of tea. He wasn't back when John meandered over to the dining hall for dinner. Midnight came and passed, and still, Sherlock hadn't returned. At a quarter past one, John's phone finally chimed, signaling a new message. Anxiously, he scrabbled for his phone, eagerly reading the text.

01:15 Case is a seven. Heading to Brighton. Hope to be finished by tomorrow night. – SH

01:16 Ok. Please take care of yourself. Try and get some sleep, okay? – JW

01:16 Sleep slows me down. I'll have some breakfast tomorrow though. – SH

01:18 Toast and eggs at least, love. – JW

01:19 Yes, John. Now get some sleep. – SH

01:19 I will. Goodnight, beautiful. Can't wait to get you home. – JW

Knowing that he wouldn't hear from Sherlock again until the case was solved, John stripped to his pants, grabbed his pillow, and settled in Sherlock's bed, pulling the covers up around him. Sighing deeply, John drifted off to sleep, the memory of Sherlock's touch easing his passage into dreamland.

It took Sherlock another fourteen hours to solve the case. By the time the paperwork was finished, Sherlock was tired and cranky and he had been away from John for far too long. Approximately thirty-six hours and twenty-seven minutes too long. While he was grateful that Lestrade had brought him a good case, he wished the Detective Inspector's timing could have been better. Had he simply waited just one additional hour, he would have saved himself quite the eyeful, and he wouldn't have had to deal with a sexually frustrated consulting detective. Sherlock knew he was being difficult, but he didn't feel any obligation to not be. He needed John to help fix his mood. Yawning loudly, Sherlock hoped he had enough energy to last through a round of special attention from John.

Walking into their dorm room, Sherlock frowned. John wasn't there, but judging by the way the sheets of his bed were rumpled, he had only recently left. Huffing, Sherlock flopped on his bed and closed his eyes, phone cradled on his chest. He didn't know what time John would be back from wherever he went, but he did know that he could rest until then. Smiling softly, Sherlock finally fell asleep.

John returned to their room hours later, arms laden with textbooks and Chinese take-out. He was glad to finally have his homework completed for the semester, and the prospect of having Sherlock back only made him giddier. He was pleased to find Sherlock asleep when he walked in. Setting down his belongings, John pulled out a carton of fried rice along with a fork, and perched on the foot of Sherlock's bed. Eating carefully, he watched as Sherlock slept. When he was finished, John put away his leftovers, pulled off his trousers, and climbed into bed beside Sherlock.

They woke the next morning, one just after the other, eyes blinking open slowly. "You're impossible," John murmured, shuffling closer to his roommate's body.

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow, silently urging John to continue.

"Impossibly brilliant. Impossibly gorgeous. Impossible wonderful," John clarified, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Sherlock's nose. "Your tongue is impossibly sharp, your eyes are impossibly breathtaking, and your mouth is impossibly kissable," he continued.

John smiled when two spots of color appeared high on Sherlock's cheekbones. "And your blush is impossibly sexy," he assed, leaning up to press kisses into Sherlock's heated skin. "Absolutely gorgeous, just like the rest of you."

Sherlock's flush deepened and he ducked his head, turning to bury his face into his pillow. Gently, John's hands slid up Sherlock's body and tangled in his hair, using his grip as leverage to pull Sherlock's head back.

"Don't you hide from me," John breathed, his voice low. "Don't you dare hide from me, you gorgeous thing."

"You embarrass me, John," Sherlock mumbled, eyes falling shut.

John chuckled and leaned in again, his nose nuzzling gently against Sherlock's. "I don't try to," John murmured, hands stroking soothingly through Sherlock's hair. "You're just nearly too impossible for me. And you really are stunning. Even more so when you blush."

Sherlock's eyes opened wide at John's words. "You really believe that, don't you? He asked, voice shaky.

John hummed in confirmation. "Of course I do."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, eyebrows furrowing fiercely. "Why do you like it when I blush so much?"

John smiled and let one hand drop down to rub circles at the base of Sherlock's neck. "It's because you let your guard down," he replied.

"How so?" Sherlock inquired sharply.

"The more you blush, the less you're concerned about everything else," John replied. "You're usually so put together, and it means that you must really trust me to let me see you completely debauched."

Sherlock's flush spread down his neck. "I've never seen it like that," he admitted. "I've always seen it as a weakness."

John chuckled softly and shook his head. "It's only a weakness if you show it to someone who wants to exploit you."

"And you won't exploit me?" Sherlock asked, his voice strangely small.

John leaned up and kissed his roommate sweetly. "Nope. I could never exploit you, Sherlock. I care about you too much."

Sherlock smiled softly and wrapped his free arm around John, pulled him close, and buried his head in the crook of John's neck. "Thank you," he breathed, his words puffing hotly against John's skin. "Thank you, John."

John smiled and held his roommate closer, hands roaming up and down his back. "Believe me," he said, tilting Sherlock's chin so their gazes could lock. "It's my sincere _pleasure_."

Sherlock stared at John slack-jawed, gaze fixated on his mouth. "John?" he breathed.

"Mmm?" John hummed, his thumb stroking circles on Sherlock's cheek.

"Can I kiss you?" Sherlock asked, shifting to press even closer to John.

John grinned. "I thought you'd never ask, gorgeous," John said. "You can kiss me any time you want."

Hesitantly, Sherlock leaned up and pressed his lips against John's, his breath hitching in his chest. John quickly took control of the kiss, his hands cradling Sherlock's jaw as his lips slid softly against his own. Sherlock melted against John, pressing himself against every dip and curve of John's body. His roommate was so warm and sturdy against him, and Sherlock wanted to feel more of John. Breaking the kiss with a shuddering breath, Sherlock murmured, "more."

"More of what, beautiful?" John asked, leaning back in to kiss the corner of Sherlock's mouth.

"More of you, John. I want to feel more of you," he answered.

John chuckled and nibbled at Sherlock's bottom lip. "I think I can do that," he said, hands working their way under his roommate's shirt. "God, you feel so good."

Sherlock's hands scrabbled for purchase on John's shirt as his mouth pressed against John's. He groaned in frustration when John broke the kiss again, the sound morphing into a content sigh when his shirt was finally gone and John's hands were mapping out his chest.

"Patience, love," John murmured, bending to kiss a path to Sherlock's ear. "I'll make it worth your while."

Sherlock was turning into putty in his hands, his body pliant and willing to do whatever john wanted him to. "Christ, Sherlock. Do you have any idea how much I want you?" he asked, nipping at his roommate's earlobe.

Sherlock gasped, his hands fisting hard around the hem of John's shirt as his hips bucked up. "John, please," he whimpered, his eyes squeezing shut as he attempted to control his breathing. "I want you, too. So much."

John hummed low in his throat as he kissed down to Sherlock's chest, lips automatically wrapping around a sensitive nipple and sucking hard, pulling a needy moan from Sherlock. John could feel his roommate's chest rumble with pleasure under his lips, and it made his mouth water. "Then I guess I'll just have to have you then, won't I?" he breathed, pressing his words into Sherlock's skin with his lips and tongue.

John spent what felt like hours laving attention on his nipples, sucking and biting at them until they were red, swollen, and quite tender. Sherlock's cock was hard and leaking, straining obscenely against his trousers. He needed to lessen the pressure somehow, lest he explode. Shakily, his hands fumbled with the button of his trousers, fingers unable to gain purchase on metal and fabric. Groaning, he settled for arching his hips up, effectively grinding his erection against John's thigh.

Sensing Sherlock's franticness, John pulled back, kissed just over his roommate's heart, and help Sherlock out of his too-tight trousers and pants. When Sherlock was naked, John took his time, hands stroking reverently over Sherlock's flesh. Lips, tongue, and teeth gravitated towards the sharp ridges ad deep hollows of Sherlock's hipbones, biting and sucking twin marks on either side

Sherlock was shaking under him as John continued downwards, bypassing his roommate's leaking cock to leave more marks on his inner thighs. "John, please," Sherlock moaned, hands fisting into the sheets.

"Please, what, gorgeous?" John asked, peering up at Sherlock from underneath his eyelashes.

"Please put your mouth on me," Sherlock begged, spreading his legs to allow John more room.

"Mmm, get a condom then, love," John instructed, wrapping a hand around Sherlock's heavy erection.

"Can't reach," Sherlock panted. "Too far away."

"That's too bad. I really wanted to finish sucking you off," John commented, nuzzling into the crease of Sherlock's thigh. "I guess I'll have to settle for something else."

"Settle for what, John?" Sherlock asked, his hips gyrating in small circles, attempting to rut against anything.

John moved quickly, hands spreading Sherlock's legs as he pushed them up towards his chest. "This," he murmured, voice husky with lust. Before Sherlock could deduce what 'this' was, John had licked a firm stripe over Sherlock's entrance, hands squeezing hard around his thighs.

"John? What are you-ah! Doing?" Sherlock asked, legs shaking at the new sensation.

Looking up from between his roommate's legs, John chuckled as he pressed his tongue against Sherlock's puckered hole, swirling it clockwise, smearing wetness everywhere. "I'm putting my mouth on you, beautiful," he replied, pausing to nibble the plush flesh of Sherlock's arse. "Stay here, love. I'm going to get some lube and a condom. I have to have you in my mouth again. Wanna taste you all over."

It didn't take John very long to retrieve the necessary items, quickly slipping back into his previous position between Sherlock's legs. "You put that on, love," John instructed, tossing the condom at Sherlock. "I have some unfinished business to attend to."

The unfinished business seemed to be loosening his hole with is tongue. It was messy, John was making all sorts of obscene smacking noises, and Sherlock could feel the extra saliva smeared between his arse cheeks. The sensation of John's mouth on him _there_ was intense. In his haze of arousal, Sherlock wasn't quite sure if he liked the feeling of John's tongue pushing even further inside him.

"John," he called out, hands reaching to grab at his roommate's hair, tugging John backwards.

"You okay?" Sherlock?" John asked, his gaze travelling up Sherlock's body slowly, looking for any sign of distress or trouble.

"Feels strange," Sherlock murmured, his cheeks flushing deeper.

John's brows furrowed. "Good strange, or bad strange?" he asked, reaching for the condom resting untouched on Sherlock's abdomen.

Sherlock turned his head to the side and frowned. "I- I don't know," he admitted, voice soft.

John smiled reassuringly at him and rolled the condom over Sherlock's cock. "That's fine. I'll go back to sucking you off and maybe try fingering you? If you don't like it, we can always stop," he said, bending to kiss the crown of Sherlock's now covered cock.

Sherlock nodded and emitted a whimper as John's mouth wrapped around him. John's touch seemed to be everywhere at once, his gentle touch and strong presence overwhelming Sherlock. His cock felt too hard and his balls were too tight and full. The pressure seemed to wane when John pressed a single slick digit inside him, pumping slowly to loosen him up.

Before he knew it, John was two fingers deep, his fingertips brushing against his prostate with every stroke. His mouth was still wrapped, hot and tight around his cock, John's glorious throat working the tip with every swallow. Sherlock's arousal climbed higher and higher with each passing minute. His skin was slicked with sweat, and his blood felt like it was on fire. His entire boy felt too tight and full, as if he'd burst in two any moment. John hummed around his cock and pressed a third finger in, and the dam broke. "John, stop," he breathed, body arching away from his roommate's touch. "I can't… too much… please."

John immediately pulled back and met Sherlock's gaze with his own. It was impossible to not see how aroused Sherlock was. His entire body was flushed a deep red and slick with perspiration. He was so fucking gorgeous with his disheveled hair and mesmerizing eyes blown extra wide. He looked to be on the verge of orgasm, and John wanted to give it to him so badly. Moving his fingers once more, he pressed firmly against Sherlock's prostate, and the lithe man keened.

"Please, stop!" Sherlock cried, legs clamping together in an attempt to limit John's access.

"What's wrong?" John asked, stilling his fingers inside Sherlock's arse. He noticed for the first time that his roommate looked panicked, his chest heaving in an attempt to pull air into his lungs.

"Too much," Sherlock replied, tears welling at the corner of his eyes.

Slowly, John pressed a kiss to the side of Sherlock's knees. "I need you to spread your legs for me again, love. So I can pull out and get us cleaned up," he said, his free hand rubbing gentle circles into Sherlock's thigh.

Swallowing thickly, Sherlock spread his legs again, groaning as John eased his fingers from his channel, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he breathed, clenching his legs together once John's hand was free. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

John took a moment to clean himself off and gather his composure before he draped himself around Sherlock in bed, gingerly wrapping his arms around his roommate's curled-up form. "Whatever are you apologizing for, beautiful?" he asked, thumbs wiping Sherlock's tears.

Sherlock turned away from John's touch and buried his face in his pillow, his reply sufficiently muffled beyond recognition.

"Sherlock, I can't understand you, love. Can you look at me, please?" John asked, touch gentle along Sherlock's shoulders and back.

It took a few moments for Sherlock to look up at John, his face marred by an intense frown. "I'm sorry I can't put out for you," he spat, attempting to pull back from John.

John's grip held firm. "Please don't pull away from me, love. And it's fine, Sherlock. It really is."

Sherlock huffed and stared at John in disbelief. "That's not what everyone else would say," he stated.

John smiled fondly at his roommate and kissed his forehead. "Really, Sherlock. It's all fine. Sex can be overwhelming. It's perfectly ok that we stopped." He paused to brush a curl from Sherlock's eyes, fingers lingering along his temple. "And I'm not everyone else, beautiful. Surely you've figured that out by now, yeah?"

Sherlock's frown lessened and he shuffled closer to John. "You sure it's ok? I feel bad for not finishing what we started," he murmured.

John hummed in agreement and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I promise. We can always try again later if you want to. And if you don't want to, that's fine, too. For now, why don't we put on some pajamas and get some sleep, yeah?"

"Ok, John," Sherlock agreed. They slowly tugged on clean clothes and settled back into John's bed, bodies pressed together. John was nearly asleep when Sherlock murmured a thank you, the words nearly lost due to how quiet they were.

"For what, beautiful?" John asked, opening his eyes to look at Sherlock.

"For being kind. And for not forcing me to finish," Sherlock answered, nuzzling in against John's chest.

John smiled and wrapped an arm around his roommate. "Always, Sherlock. Always."

"John?" Sherlock called, shifting beside him.

"Hmm?" John hummed, relaxing his hold. John received no further words from Sherlock, the gentle press of the taller man's lips against his own communicating everything he couldn't say verbally. _We can try again later_ the kiss said. _I want to share myself with you, but I'm just not ready yet._

Smiling softly, John returned Sherlock's kiss, hands rubbing soothing circles wherever he could reach. "Sleep now, gorgeous. I'll be here in the morning."


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's part 5 to He Looked So Perfect. Sorry for not updating in a while. Real life got pretty hectic, and there are only so many hours in a day to write. I hope that this chapter makes up for it. Please let me know what you think in a review/comment/message. And just a reminder that if you have an idea you'd like to suggest, let me know. Cheers!**

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John and Sherlock danced around each other for a week. Heated glances, dirty notes, meaningful touches to seeming innocent places. On the eighth day, John came up behind Sherlock, kneaded his hips, and sucked a dark bruise into his left shoulder. When John pulled away to continue with his washing, Sherlock tried to get his throbbing erection under control. Flopping on his bed, Sherlock couldn't shake the feeling that he belonged to John. Smiling softly, he held on to the warmth that bloomed in his chest and slipped into his Mind Palace.

John's possessive touches didn't stop. Whenever he saw Sherlock, his eyes darkened and he wetted his lips with a swipe of his tongue. Shortly after, John's hands would stroke over a part of Sherlock's body, and a new love bite would be added to his collection. Secretly, Sherlock counted them, marvelling at how the rainbow marks contrasted against his skin. He got hard every time John claimed him, and judging by the way John occasionally pressed his hips flush against Sherlock's, he could tell that John was similarly affected.

John loved to touch Sherlock; loved the feel of his warm skin under his hands. He also loved the way Sherlock tasted; loved the way his roommate practically writhed under his lips and fingers. John also loved the way Sherlock's skin took on color so easily, how he gasped and grew hard at his attention. Every time he pulled away, Sherlock was always flushed spectacularly, his eyes glazed over and lips parted in pleasure. It was addictive, and John found that he touched Sherlock more and more with each passing day.

Their new style of living carried on for a month. Sherlock had taken to the attention like a moth to a flame. He felt so claimed and wanted when John touched him, and the longer it went on, the more Sherlock wanted to be intimate with John. The feeling was always more intense on days when he played rugby, but for the life of him, Sherlock couldn't figure out why.

John knew that Sherlock had a rugby kink, hell, half of his team had figured it out in a week. It had manifested slowly, first by Sherlock's arrival at the pitch to watch the last few moments of John's games. Then, he started to come and watch more and more until he was there the entire game. When Sherlock appeared during practices, that pretty blush staining his cheeks as he eye-fucked John, everything became quite clear.

"John, isn't that your roommate?" Mike Stamford asked, turning to look at Sherlock.

John caught the ball thrown to him before turning to stare in the direction Mike had jerked his head. "Yeah, that's him," he replied, licking his lips.

"What is he doing here?" Mike asked, walking over to John.

John shrugged his shoulders. "Haven't the foggiest. Let me go ask him," he said, jogging towards the stands.

"John," Mike called out, stopping John before he could get too far. "Be careful. I think he has a thing for rugby players. Don't want things to get weird between you two."

John just winked at his friend before he ran over to where Sherlock was standing. "Hey," he breathed, smiling brightly. Sherlock was already blushing. Brilliant.

"Hello," Sherlock replied, eyes flicking up and down John's body. He looked like a Greek Olympian, muscles defined and tanned skin gleaming with sweat.

"Still doing research on rugby?" John asked, casually placing a warm, calloused hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock swallowed thickly and nodded.

John grinned brightly and leaned in, his breath puffing hotly over Sherlock's ear. "The boys think you're fantasizing about them," he whispered, hand squeezing Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock's breath hitched at John's words and his heart beat a furious tattoo against his ribs.

"But we know that's not true, hmmm?" John asked, leaning in closer to nibble Sherlock's earlobe. "You've got a thing for rugby players, yeah, but not just any rugby players though. Isn't that right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shuddered under him and nodded, hands curling into tight fists by his side. "Just you, John," he admitted, heat burning down his neck.

"Mmm. I'm glad," John murmured, pulling back to look at Sherlock. "So, if you want some help with your research, I'll give you a one-on-one session after practice is over. So go back to our room, change your clothes, and report back here in an hour and a half. Everyone else should be gone by then."

Sherlock nodded and backed away from John, intent on heading towards their dormitory.

"Oh, and Sherlock?" John called, halting his friend.

Sherlock turned to look at John, his eyes glazed over in want. "Yes?" he breathed, just loud enough for John to hear.

"After we're done, I'll show you what it's like to shower in the locker room," John said. He took a moment to openly ogle Sherlock's body before winking cheekily and returning to his practice. Flushed scarlet and achingly hard, Sherlock retreated to their dorm room and did as John requested.

When Sherlock returned to rugby pitch, he was still half-hard in his athletic shorts. John was alone on the field, tossing the rugby ball up again and again into the air, sure hands catching it every time. Sherlock paused and stared for a few moments, eyes fixating on the way John's biceps flexed and bulged, his mouth quickly going dry. He was pulled from his staring when John called his name, one arm waving him other as the other cradled the rugby ball.

Cautiously, Sherlock stepped onto the rugby pitch, eyeing the ball in John's grasp warily. "It's not going to bite you, gorgeous," John said, sensing Sherlock's hesitance.

"I know that, John," Sherlock said, snapping his eyes to roam over John's face. "But you might if I'm not careful," he teased.

John chuckled and nodded. "Guilty," he admitted, tossing the ball gently towards Sherlock. "You just look so delectable. All the time. I can't keep my hands off you."

Sherlock blushed and caught the ball, instantly deducing everything he could from the way the leather felt, from the color of the laces, from the faint smell of leather oil that he knew would linger on his fingers even after a shower. "Really, John. You say such crass things," he said, raising an eyebrow at his roommate.

John grinned unabashed. "Definitely guilty of that. Does it bother you?" he asked, stepping forward to place his hands on the rugby ball. Sherlock colored under his stare, and John found that he couldn't look away from his roommate.

"N-no," Sherlock stuttered, licking his lips. "But it's only ok when you say things like that. Only you, John."

"I'm glad," John said, tugging on the rugby ball. "Now, I promised you a lesson, did I not? Shall we get started?"

They started out with some basics. Ground rules were established, and soon, John and Sherlock were throwing the ball back and forth between them. Every now and then, John would stop and correct Sherlock's stance, his hands grabbing and tugging and pushing at Sherlock's flesh, maneuvering him into just the right place. Every time John corrected him, his hands seemed to linger on Sherlock's skin just a little bit longer.

They spent an hour on the field, tossing the ball back and forth, John running Sherlock through a few interception techniques. They were getting tired and reckless, their bodies colliding more often than they should in an attempt to scrabble for the ball. One more round had Sherlock tripping and falling to the ground, leg dragging against a rough patch of grass.

John was immediately at his side, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes concerned. "Sherlock, are you ok?" he asked, his sturdy hands immediately reaching for his flatmate's leg.

"I think so," Sherlock replied, sitting up. It became apparent very quickly that Sherlock was not fine if the blood trickling down his leg was any indication.

"Well I don't," John stated, bending down to get a closer look at Sherlock's injury. "Thankfully, your ankle isn't sprained. But we'll need to get that cut washed up and bandaged as soon as possible. Come on, let's go shower."

Cautiously, Sherlock allowed John to pull him to his feet, biting back a hiss of pain when sweat dripped into his wound. They hobbled together towards the rugby team's locker room, and John set Sherlock down on a bench to wait while he breezed through the shower area, turning on tap after tap. He allowed the water to heat to a proper temperature before bothering to retrieve various supplies from his locker. Finally, when everything was ready, John stripped out of his practice rugby uniform, set his shower caddy in the middle of the shower area, and approached Sherlock, his hands extended in an open invitation. Gingerly, Sherlock rose from where John had deposited him on the bench, tugging off his shirt as he did so.

"Come here, gorgeous," John said. "I want to peel you from your clothes."

His face flushed pink, Sherlock slowly approached John, his hands raising to rest on his roommate's shoulders. "John?" he murmured, voice unsure.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John urged.

"Can I please kiss you?" Sherlock asked, eyes dropping to watch John's lips.

John chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist. "Of course," he breathed, tilting his head up. "Anytime you want. And I mean that. Really."

Tilting his head down, Sherlock closed the gap between their faces, his lips pressing gently against John's. It was both familiar and foreign at the same time, the slide and whisper of John's lips against his own like a distant memory.

Sherlock's lips eagerly parted when John's tongue swiped over them, dipping gently into his roommate's mouth. John moaned softly as Sherlock pulled him closer, breathy sounds of pleasure falling from his own lips at every change in the kiss. Hands eagerly roamed over slick skin, fingers sliding over muscles, skidding over bones, and tangling in hair.

Slowly, John eased the rest of Sherlock's clothes from him and pulled him under the shower spray. He moaned into Sherlock's surprised gasp, and pushed him steadily against the cool, tile wall. "It should be illegal," John growled as he broke the kiss to stare at his drenched roommate, "for you to be this fucking beautiful. God, Sherlock. I _need_ to have you."

"Then have me, John. i need you, too," Sherlock panted, his fingers digging into John's shoulder.

John kissed him fiercely, his hands dropping to knead and squeeze at Sherlock's arse. John moaned enthusiastically, moving to attach Sherlock's neck with vigour, teeth nipping over his pulse point, tongue darting out to soothe the sting. "God, Sherlock, you taste amazing. You need to get tested so I can taste you properly," John said, rocking his hips against his roommate's.

"I'll get tested tomorrow morning, then," Sherlock murmured, angling his hips so that his erection lined up with John's. They both moaned at the new position, their hips stuttering as they tried to find a good rhythm. Soon enough, Sherlock's legs were wrapped tightly around John's hips and his back was rubbing against the wall as they rutted against each other, John's lips sucking marks along his clavicle.

Sherlock's skin was hot and stained red from the heat of the shower. Everything was slick and wet, and John had to remind himself multiple times that he needed to actually get them washed, not just make out against the wall. "Let me wash you," John breathed, breaking the kiss to stare at his roommate's face. "Then we can go back to our room and continue this in a bed. It'll be better that way."

Sherlock hummed in pleasure and nodded eagerly. "Yes, John," he murmured, eyes blinking wide to stare at John. "I want you inside me."

John's eyes darkened impossibly, and his cock throbbed against Sherlock's hip. Easing his roommate back down on his own feet, John guided him forward into the spray, frowning as he saw Sherlock still favoring his scraped leg. As gently as he could, John lathered up his hands and went about washing Sherlock, taking great care to gently work off the layers of sweat, earth, and dried blood from his would when he reached it. By the time John was done, Sherlock's erection had flagged completely and pained whimpers were falling from his throat.

"Does it hurt?" John asked, fingers trailing delicately around the wound's edge.

"It stings. And everything aches," Sherlock replied, resting his hands on John's shoulders, using the smaller man to help balance himself.

"We're almost done here. I'm sorry you're hurt. I should have been more careful with you," he murmured, frowning as the scrape continued to bleed slowly. "I think me being inside you is going to have to wait until this heals."

Sherlock pouted at John's words, clearly disappointed. "But John, I want you now. I've been waiting a month for this. Please, don't make me wait any longer," he pleaded.

John chuckled softly and rose from the floor to press a kiss to Sherlock's brow. "How about this? We wait on penetrative sex until your leg is healed. We can get off right here, right now, but in a different way. And if your test results come back clean before we can have sex, I'll suck you off and swallow your load every day until you're healed. Sound good?" John asked.

Sherlock gasped as he felt John lean in and nibble behind his right ear. "I suppose that's ah!- acceptable," he replied, his voice breathy.

"Perfect," John purred, pulling back. Taking Sherlock by his hands, John led him back to the bench by the showers and guided him down. "You are going to sit here and touch yourself while I finish showering," John instructed, reaching down to stroke Sherlock's cock a few times, pulling a pleased moan from his roommate.

As instructed, Sherlock took over when John pulled off to wash himself thoroughly, his hand lazily pumping up and down his erection, easing it back to fullness. After a few seconds of staring at John, Sherlock realised that the scrape on his leg was actually a blessing and not a curse like he had thought.

Although waiting on sex was something Sherlock didn't want to do, he appreciated the opportunity to watch John shower. He already knew that John was gorgeous- that tidbit of information had been established the moment they met- but never before had Sherlock seen John so exposed, both in the physical aspect, but the emotional aspect as well. Most people would have fucked Sherlock and been done with him. Growing up, others had always taken what they wanted from him and left without so much as a passing glance, but John was different. John took care of him, even when he was left wanting and frustrated. John patched him up when he was hurt, administered not only first aid care but emotional comfort as well. John also catered to Sherlock's interests, going out of his way for the sake of an experiment, or simply because Sherlock wanted more information. Even now, John was taking care of Sherlock; putting on a show for his pleasure. Speeding up his pace, Sherlock leaned back, spread his legs, and watched.

John's body was even more magnificent naked. Soapy hands slicked down his body, fingers digging into the muscles on his chest, sliding across his defined abdomen, scrubbed up and down his arms, the muscles bunching and pulling with each swipe of John's arms. The suds ran down his body, cascading over his powerful thighs and strong calves. John's erection stood out proudly between his legs, bouncing gently with every step he took. It was enough to make Sherlock's mouth water. Swallowing audibly, he quickened his pace, hand squeezing tighter around his erection just as John turned and looked at him.

Once he was clean, John turned and stared at Sherlock, locking their gazes. He was so beautiful, his reddened skin littered with darker love bites, his hand stroking his cock in earnest. With a cheeky grin, John trailed his left hand down his chest, winking as he wrapped his fingers around his erection. "God, Sherlock. If only you could see yourself," he said, fingers teasing his foreskin. "So fucking beautiful, spread out and touching yourself for me. Jesus, you look so good."

Sherlock moaned at John's words, cheeks darkening with arousal. "John," he breathed, his free hand reaching up to pinch and pull harshly at a nipple.

John moaned loudly at the vision before him, snapping his hips forward to fuck his fist. "This is how I'm going to fuck you, Sherlock," he growled, thrusting his hips faster. "I'm going to fuck you nice and deep until you're adjusted to my size, and then I'm going to pound into you until you scream my name."

Sherlock changed the pace on his cock, slowing down to mimic John's movement. "Please, John. God, I can't wait to have you inside me," Sherlock moaned. Needing more stimulation, he shifted his weight and pulled his good leg up to rest against the bench, his free hand dropping from his chest to rub against his hole.

"Jesus Christ," John breathed, abandoning the slow pace for a brutal one. "We're going to have to do this again sometime, but in our bed. With lube."

Sherlock groaned low in his throat as he pressed his dry finger against his entrance, coaxing the tight ring of muscle to relax. "Definitely," he agreed, eyes flicking back and forth from John's cock to his face.

"It'd be so hot, to see you work yourself open for me," John babbled, his rhythm faltering as his orgasm neared. "So goddamn close, Sherlock. Fuck, I need you to cum for me."

At John's words, Sherlock's hips stuttered, pushing his erection up into the tight grip of his fist. "Oh my god," he murmured, allowing his head to fall back. "John, I'm close. I need… I need…"

"Put your eyes on me," John demanded, his voice rough. "I want you to watch as I spill all over my fist and imagine me doing it inside of you."

Sherlock's eyes snapped to John's cock, breath heaving raggedly from his lips in anticipation. John lasted a few more strokes, his wrist twisting on each upstroke, and then he was cumming, hot ropes of his release dribbling down his hand to puddle on the floor. Seeing John's orgasm wrack through his body, his muscles tensing beautifully in the dimmed light, was enough for Sherlock, his own erection twitching as his orgasm hit.

They were still for a few moments, both breathing harshly as they came down from their pleasure high. When John was able to function again, he stepped back under the shower's spray one last time, gently washing his semen from his body. When he was clean, he grabbed a flannel from his locker, wet it, and cleaned Sherlock up, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Feel better?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded and leaned his head against John's shoulder, hand grappling for purchase on the back of his neck. "Much," he murmured, closing his eyes.

John smiled and tossed the soiled flannel towards the laundry hamper. "Let's get dressed and head back to our room, yeah? We can order chinese and have it delivered later, if you want," he said.

Sherlock nodded again and treated John to a rare, genuine smile. "That sounds perfect," he commented, allowing John to pull him up and help him dress in whatever he could find.

"You'll have to wear some of my clothes. They're probably a bit small for you, but they'll work until we get back," John said, handing a clean shirt and a pair of athletic shorts to his roommate.

Sherlock pulled them on without fuss and leaned against John when they were both clothed. "John? I may need some help walking back with my leg. Would you mind lending me your assistance?" he asked.

John winked at him and wrapped an arm around his waist. "I think I can help you with that," he replied, turning Sherlock so that he faced the door. Before Sherlock could fathom what was happening, John had swept Sherlock up into his arms and was walking purposefully towards their dorm room.

"John! What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, his arms clinging to John's shoulders.

"I'm lending you my assistance," John replied, squeezing gently around Sherlock's waist.

"People will talk," Sherlock scolded, squirming in John's hold.

John laughed and paused to press a kiss to Sherlock's curls. "Let them," he said, rubbing gentle circles on the underside of Sherlock's injured knee. "People do little else." Without another word, John exited the rugby lockers and made his way across campus looking mightily pleased with himself. If his classmates paused and stared at them as they passed, John would never know. He was too fixated on the prospect of spending the rest of the night with his consulting detective in training.


	6. Chapter 6

**Here's the last chapter of He Looked So Perfect. I hope you've all enjoyed this piece as much as I've enjoyed writing it. A big thank you goes out to johnlockbbclover for not only giving me this beautiful prompt, but for also helping me work through the tough spots when I wanted to quit. Reviews and feedback are much appreciated. As always, if you have any ideas or suggestions, feel free to drop them in my PM; I'd love to fill them. Cheers!**

* * *

It had been a week since their one-on-one rugby lesson, and Sherlock's test still hadn't come in. He was tired, and sexually frustrated, and to top it all off, he had a rugby game due to start in just over an hour, and his uniform was nowhere to be found.

Sighing heavily, John unlocked the door to his dorm room, mumbling obscenities under his breath as he fiddled with the handle. When he finally wiggled it open, he stepped inside and froze, his brain doing it's best to comprehend the vision that was Sherlock wearing his uniform.

"Sherlock, I need my uniform back," John stuttered after a moment, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Then come and get it, John," Sherlock commented, his voice dangerously rough and low.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I mean, come and get your uniform, John. Do keep up," he replied.

John huffed and crossed his arms. "Look, Sherlock. I don't have time for games, ok? So please give me back my uniform so I can go to my game, yeah?" he said.

Sherlock smirked and stretched his arms above his head, tipping his head to the side as he watched John. He was pleased when he noticed John's eyes rake over his body, fixating on the panels of creamy, pale skin that were exposed between the parts of John's black and yellow rugby uniform. "Alright," he conceded, shifting so that he was halfway sitting up on John's bed. "You can have your uniform back, but on one condition."

John swallowed thickly and nodded, his cheeks starting to heat up. "Fine, what's the condition?" he asked.

Sherlock's smirk widened as he winked at John. "If I'm getting naked, you need to as well."

It was quiet for a few moments as John processed Sherlock's request. "You want me naked?" he finally asked, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"I believe a better question would be, 'when don't I want you naked,' John," Sherlock replied, slowly rising from John's bed.

Rugby uniforms were small. John knew that quite well. The tight shirt and tiny shorts allowed his body a free range of motion, while his black athletic socks provided a small shield against damage from the inevitable collisions. On Sherlock though, the uniform was absolutely miniscule.

The shirt pulled tight across his chest, clearly showing his slight muscle definition and erect nipples. If he squinted and focused, John was sure he could count each of Sherlock's ribs. The bottom of the shirt barely covered his navel, leaving a plane of pale skin uncovered for his viewing pleasure. The shorts were even smaller than the shirt, the waistband pulled tight against Sherlock's hips. They barely covered the plush swell of Sherlock's gorgeous arse, leaving a great majority of his legs uncovered. His black athletic socks came up to just below Sherlock's knees, a dark contrast against unblemished, alabaster flesh. Sherlock was absolutely stunning, and he was stretched out on John's bed, all bedroom eyes and tousled hair.

Taking advantage of John's dazed state, Sherlock rose slowly from the bed and sauntered towards his roommate, slinging his arms loosely around John's shoulders. John gulped when Sherlock leaned in close, his fingers rubbing small circles into the nape of John's neck. "I've been waiting for you, John. My test results came back clean today, and I can't wait to have you inside me," Sherlock murmured, pausing to place a biting kiss behind John's ear. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, about you fucking me without a condom. I bet I'll feel so tight around you, and I know I'm going to love it when you fill me up nice and full."

John blinked hazily up at him, lips parting to pull in air. "No condom?" he repeated, his eyebrows furrowed as his arousal-hazed brain attempted to put the pieces together.

"Mmmmhhmmm," Sherlock purred, licking a stripe along John's jaw. "I can't wait to feel you cum inside me."

The next moment, Sherlock found himself sprawled back on John's bed with a very enthusiastic roommate sucking a new mark into his clavicle. "Fuck, Sherlock," John growled, forcefully grinding their hips together. "You wearing my ruby uniform should be illegal."

Sherlock chuckled and scraped his nails down John's back. "Then get it off of me, John," he breathed, grabbing a handful of John's arse. "And you better work quickly, your game starts in an hour."

John quickly plucked his uniform from Sherlock, fastening their lips together for a frantic kiss when he was naked. Their hips slotted together and John gave an experimental thrust, pulling a moan from them both. "I want you," he panted, breaking the kiss to look at Sherlock. "But I want this to last, too. Wanna savour you."

Sherlock moaned as John sucked a nipple into his mouth, teeth nipping around the hardened bud. "You can savour me after the game. We can even -ah! make it interesting," Sherlock replied, hands fisting in the fabric of John's shirt and pulling impatiently.

"Interesting, huh? What do you have in mind?" John asked, pulling away from Sherlock's flushed chest with a grin.

"If you win, I'll suck you off in the showers after the match," Sherlock offered, smiling proudly when he finally managed to pull John's shift over his head. "And if you lose, you come back to the room and clean me up with your tongue. Either way, we'll spend the rest of the night in bed, and likely most of tomorrow too. You can savour me then, John, because I need you to fuck me hard. Right now."

Like a man possessed, John shed the rest of his clothes, stealing messy kisses from Sherlock when he could. "Are you trying to get me to throw the game on purpose? Because both of those outcomes sound wonderful," he asked, nipping behind Sherlock's ear as he reached for the lube.

Sherlock chuckled underneath him, the sound rumbling low in his chest. "We can do both, if you'd like. Although, I'd like to give my first blowjob without being distracted by my own pleasure, I'd be more than happy to sixty-nine with you sometime in the very near future," he replied, spreading his legs to allow John more room. "Now, I've already started stretching myself, but couldn't get the angle right. You'll have to finish the job for-"

Sherlock's words were cut off with a dirty kiss, John biting and sucking at his tongue. Slick fingers quickly found his hole and swirled lube around the puckered entrance before pushing in. Sherlock moaned breathily and wove his fingers into the sheets as John's fingertips brushed over his prostate with each twist of his hand.

"Jesus Christ," John muttered, pumping his digits in and out of his roommate's body. "You are so goddamn tight. Gonna feel so perfect around my cock."

"More," Sherlock panted, pressing back against John's hand. "I can take another finger."

Groaning, John pressed a third finger inside his roommate, pulling a hiss from Sherlock at the burn. The hiss soon dissipated into a deep moan as John's fingers rubbed across his prostate again and again. Sherlock was falling apart under him at an alarming rate, and even though he was sure that his roommate was overwhelmed, John couldn't find it in himself to stop.

"That's enough, John," Sherlock said, squirming away from John's touch. He leaned up for a kiss and wrapped his legs around John's hips, moaning as he felt John's erection slide against his entrance.

"I could cum like this, you know," John breathed, breaking the kiss to latch onto Sherlock's neck. "Just from rubbing up against your fucking gorgeous body."

Sherlock groaned at John's words, hands raking across his shoulders.

"But being inside you would be better, now wouldn't it?" John continued, rubbing the head of his cock against Sherlock's fluttering hole. "Filling you up, first with my cock, then with my cum, just like you wanted."

"God, John, don't be a tease. I've been hard and wanting all day, and I need you inside me right now," Sherlock breathed, angling his hips in an attempt to get John's cock to slip in.

John gripped his hips tight, chuckled low in his throat, and continued to rut against Sherlock. When they were both wracked with absolute need and Sherlock was on the verge of tears, John lined himself up and pressed forward slowly, easing his way into Sherlock's body, his jaw falling open at the unbelievable pleasure. "Jesus fucking Christ," John groaned, his mouth falling open.

Sherlock moaned incoherently beneath him, his quicksilver eyes wide and doe-like, his gaze running all over John's body. John was losing himself in a haze of pleasure, and it was one of the most arousing things Sherlock had ever seen. John's skin seemed to glow with pleasure, and his entire body was drawn tight like a bow. Sherlock knew that John's will was tested, pleasure urging him to thrust his hips and take the pleasure he so desperately wanted, but in a herculean feat of sheer will, he remained still as a statue until Sherlock squirmed under him, arching his hips in an attempt to push John even deeper.

Moving his hips minutely, John's eyes locked on Sherlock's as his tongue swiped moisture across his lips. "Fuck, Sherlock. Can I move?" he asked, stilling his hips once more.

"Yes," Sherlock breathed, wrapping his ankles around the dip in John's back, digging his heels into the upper swell of John's arse. "God, John. Yes."

John nodded and furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, his pink tongue peeking out from between his lips. Excruciatingly slowly, he pulled his hips back, his erection dragging so sweetly inside Sherlock until just the head of his cock was still inside him. He paused for the span of a few heartbeats, and then he was thrusting back in, and he was pretty sure the entire world tilted. Pleasure sparked up his cock, pooling hotly in his belly as he moved. He grunted and increased the pace, angling his cock to hopefully drag against Sherlock's prostate. Three strokes later, Sherlock keened, his entire body clamping down around John's, and he knew he'd found what he was searching for.

"God, Sherlock," he panted, bending to nip at his roommate's collar bone. "You feel so good."

"You too," Sherlock breathed, a needy whimper falling from his throat. "I'm close."

"Me too," John grunted, slamming his hips hard and fast into Sherlock. "Gonna fill you up with my cum, just like you wanted."

"John," Sherlock moaned, hands grappling for purchase on his roommate's sweaty shoulders. "John, please. I'm gonna… gonna…"

Sherlock seemed unable to finish his sentence. Not surprising considering he'd been keyed up all day waiting for him to come back to the room. Remembering Sherlock's promise that he could savour his body later, John gripped Sherlock's hips tightly, pressed one last sweet kiss to Sherlock's neck, and then fucked him hard, setting a brutal pace as they chased their completion.

John came first, spilling hotly into Sherlock as he moaned his name. The sensation was almost enough to tip Sherlock over the edge, but not enough, his erection throbbing and nearly purple with blood weeping pre-cum to smear across his abdomen. Reaching a hand down, John wrapped his fingers around his roommate's cock, stroking him roughly as he ground his hips down, brushing his half-hard cock against Sherlock's prostate. "Cum for me, beautiful," he growled, breath puffing hotly over Sherlock's ear.

"I don't know if I can," Sherlock sobbed, turning to bury his face in the crook of John's neck. "Too much."

"Nonsense," John breathed, twisting his hand on each upstroke. "I know you can. Cum for me, baby, please? I want you to cum all over my hand."

Sherlock writhed under him, hips bucking up into John's touch. "John," he murmured, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to let go. "John."

"Come on, Sherlock. Cum for me, you gorgeous thing," John ordered, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of Sherlock's face. "I've got you, beautiful. Let go. Cum for me."

He won't remember the way his back nearly arched off the bed during his orgasm, nor will he remember sinking his teeth deep into the side of John's neck in an attempt to muffle his cries. He will, however, remember feeling as if his entire body had been consumed by fire, pleasure rippling everywhere as he finally spilled his release over John's hand.

Sherlock came to some time later, blinking owlishly as John wiped a wet flannel down his abdomen. He was already wiped down and was wearing his rugby uniform, looking pleasantly rumpled as he took care of Sherlock. "John?" he murmured. "What's happening?"

"I'm needed at the pitch soon. You're more than welcome to come watch, but you don't have to," John replied, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's forehead before straightening up and tossing the flannel.

Sherlock stretched and smiled, enjoying both the hazy afterglow and the way John's eyes raked down his body. "I'll be there," he said, winking cheekily.

John chuckled, winked back, and grabbed his keys before running out their door. "I'll look for you. Meet me in the showers after we win!" he called over his shoulder, grinning.

Sherlock showed up to the pitch just before the game started, settling into a seat towards the back of the bleachers. His eyes ran across the field, quietly deducing the members of the opposing team. When John's team took the field, Sherlock found that he couldn't sit still, not with John's cum slowly dripping out of his arse.

Around him, Sherlock could hear the hushed words about his lover, everyone having noticed the rather sizeable mark Sherlock had left on his neck. After each goal John scored, his hand would raise and press against the bruise and his eyes would meet Sherlock's, scorching with want. The girls sitting in front of him were practically swooning. Shaking his head, Sherlock shifted, biting back a moan as more cum dribbled from his hole, and tried to concentrate on the game.

Despite their amorous activities earlier, John was full of energy, easily running circles around his competitors down on the field. He had been worried his presence would be a distraction, but after John's fourth consecutive goal, he couldn't help but smirk. Faced with Sherlock's promise, of course he would be motivated to play well.

When the game ended nearly an hour later, Sherlock was a slick mess. He wasn't sure how John's cum was still oozing from him, but the feel of it sliding between his arse cheeks to smear down the back of his thighs was almost more than he could handle.

Things got worse when John sauntered over to the bleachers, his body flushed and drenched with sweat. He wasted no time in plonking himself beside Sherlock, his hand resting hotly over his thigh. "Hey there, beautiful," he greeted, smiling brightly. "Glad you could come."

Sherlock smiled shyly and nodded. "I am too," he said, sending John a wink of his own. "You played well."

"You think so?" John asked, turning to stare incredulously at Sherlock.

"I do. You were surprisingly energetic. And it didn't help that everyone was staring at your neck," Sherlock replied, eyes narrowing in on the love bite.

John chuckled. "Well, today I'd take all the help I could get," he said. They sat there in silence for a while, both enjoying each other's closeness as they waited for the field to clear of players and fans alike.

"Come on, let's go celebrate," John finally said, squeezing Sherlock's knee when the pitch was clear.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "And how do you plan on celebrating?" he asked.

John winked and grasped Sherlock's hand in his. "Well, I can think of a few things…" he replied, tugging his roommate down the bleachers. "But I was promised a blowjob in the showers, and that sounds like a damn good place to start."

Smirking, Sherlock followed behind John, watching as the muscles in his arse contracted and stretched with each step. "And after this blowjob?" he inquired, feigning innocence.

"Well," John replied, pushing the door to the locker room open. "I was planning to spend the rest of the weekend in bed. You could join me if you wanted," he offered, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he alluded to their earlier conversation.

"Mmm, I'd love to," Sherlock replied, pausing to pull John in for a kiss. "Although, I must warn you, I'm a bit messy. I might need to be cleaned up before we start."

**Chuckling lightly, John kissed him back. "I think I can manage that," he said, reaching down to cup Sherlock's arse. "I can definitely manage that." **


End file.
